The Escape in the Epiphany
by LilyEvans97
Summary: When Booth fakes his death, a distraught Brennan runs away to escape her epiphany – she loves Booth. Will Booth be able to find her and convince her that he is actually alive? PREVIOUSLY CALLED "What If I Ran?".
1. Chapter 1

Category: TV

Sub-Category: Bones

Paring: Brennan/Booth

Episode: The Wannabe in the Weeds – The Pain in the Heart

Summary: When Booth fakes his death, a distraught Brennan runs away to escape her epiphany – she loves Booth. Will Booth be able to find her and convince her that he is actually alive? Can he do it before she shuns all emotional contact and retreats into the cold person she was before?

AN: Hey! Just a little something I was thinking about when I watched Bones reruns (I am so glad that they are on the Netflix Wii thingy). Not sure how far I will go with it…

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Bones. If I did, why would I be writing fanfiction about it? Duh.

…..

_Flashback _

I come home in the morning light  
>My mother says when you gonna live your life right<br>Oh mother dear we're not the fortunate ones  
>And girls they want to have fun<br>Oh girls just want to have fun

_She was experiencing a feeling of elation that she only came upon by singing. And Booth. _

_And here she was, up on the stage, smiling and singing her heart out. She saw Booth's big smile and sang louder. _

_She was soaring._

That's all they really want  
>Some fun<br>When the working day is done  
>Girls - they want to have fun<br>Oh girls just want to have fun

_She was dancing. She was having fun. _

_BANG. In a flash it was over. She saw Pam, the suspect girlfriend, pointing a gun. She saw Booth go down. _

No, _she thought, _no.

_There was screaming, crying, and sounds of horror. But none of it mattered. Booth. Booth mattered. Booth was hurt. Booth was down. _

_She was at his side before her brain had finished analyzing the situation. He was in pain. He was dying. _

_She turned and saw Pam point again. As she shielded Booth with her body, she reached into his holster and grabbed his gun. She shot. Pam went down. _

_She didn't have time to consider the effects of her actions. Booth was losing blood. Booth was going to die. _

No! _She thought again, this time with more vigor. _

"_Booth, you're going to be fine" she assured him. But she knew that the assurance was more for her that Booth. He _was _going to be fine. _

_He had to be fine. _

"_I'm right here," she whispered, hysteria threatening to overload her senses and her logic as she applied pressure on the wound. _

"_You're going to do this. You going to be fine." She was close to sobs now. She couldn't lose him. _

"_Come on! Come on Booth!" She was forceful now. She would _not _lose him. No. _

_She repeated the words to herself as she grasped his body to hers. She held him as though she could keep the life in him. _

_She felt him losing consciousness. She heard the ambulance coming. She was numb with the pain._

"I'm sorry."

That's all I heard the doctor say. And then I knew. I knew that he was gone.

As the doctor continued to say something about 'complications' and 'grievances', I keep my gaze to the carpeted hospital waiting room floor. I focused my mind on the ugly, stained, green-and-purple colored flooring, and ignored the other part of my brain and body that was screaming at me (metaphorically, of course. Body parts and brains do not scream). I wondered who had picked it out, and why they would choose such an awful color. What could they have possibly been thinking? Even before the stains and the wear and age, I imagined it had been just as ugly.

For the first time in my remembered life, I chose not to think. I ignored what the doctor was telling me. I ignored everything. I didn't think. I didn't compartmentalize. I just sat. Numb in my blank state.

I heard Angela sobbing. It broke the haze surrounding my usually sharp mind, forcing me to acknowledge the presence of my colleagues and friends.

When I forced myself to look up from that horrid carpet, I found that they (Angela, Sweets, Zach, Hodgins, and Cam) were all looking at me. I couldn't look back into their faces. It would force me to think about – or at least acknowledge the happening of – the events of the evening. And I couldn't do that. Not without breaking down, something that I couldn't do in front of anyone – not even Angela.

The only one who I might feel comfortable talking with was Bo-

No. I stopped that at once. That constituted to thinking, and I had strictly prohibited that.

I needed to get away. I wanted to go home, where I would be alone.

I stood up stiffly, and walked out, but not before stating to my friends that I would see them at work on Monday.

I vaguely recall getting a cab home after remembering that my car was at The Checkerbox because I rode in the ambulance.

And then I was home, turning my key in the lock.

I sat down on the couch. My head felt like it might explode, my headache was so much. I put my head in my hands, but quickly drew them away upon noticing the sticky substance that still coated them.

Blood.

Booth's blood.

And then it really hit.

Booth was dead.

Booth was dead and he wasn't coming back.

And I started to sob – louder than I ever had before – and found that I couldn't stop.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the sun that woke me up. Usually it was my alarm or my phone, but today it was the sunlight that was streaming through the windows of my apartment. I curled up in its warmth and then slowly opened my eyes, yawning.

I sat up. Why wasn't I in bed? I was on my couch, my neck stiff from the awkward angle I slept in after crying myself to sleep.

And then I remembered.

Oh.

Booth was gone.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I had never been one to cry, even in my childhood, but whenever Booth's smiling face swam up in my mind, I had to restrain myself from breaking out into sobs.

What was I going to do without Booth? I couldn't imagine being without him. He taught me how to be… well, a sociable person.

Whenever I thought about it, I got this strange feeling in my chest. It was… agonizing, for lack of a better word to describe it. I was no stranger to sorrow, guilt, pain, and anger, but none of these felt the same as the pain residing in my chest. My body felt heavy and leaden. I felt tired, even though I was usually an early riser and should be more awake, considering that I overslept. None of this made any sense.

And that was really what was scaring me. Nothing was making sense. I didn't know what to do. There wasn't anything logical about this situation. There weren't any facts or statistical data that would make this any more real. Or any more acceptable to me. This whole situation was completely out of my control. Not only were these emotions hurting me, they were making me uncomfortable.

I had been alone for a large part of my life. But, I hadn't felt alone in many years. Not since I met Booth. He made sure of that. But now, I was alone. I had gotten emotionally close to someone, and they had left me. Just like they all did. Eventually.

It was a small consolation, however, that Booth didn't leave because he wanted to. Or did he? Why didn't he fight harder? Didn't he know what this would do to me, how much this would hurt me?

One thing was for certain: I would never trust another person like I trusted Booth ever again.

…

There were reminders everywhere. Everywhere I looked, I saw _him_. In the coffee I made. In my Jeffersonian ID badge. In my car. In the fact that I didn't have breakfast. He was all over the Jeffersonian too. It made it unbearable to be there at all.

The moment I stepped into the building, a harassed and tired-looking Angela practically attacked me with questions. She was concerned. I had run off so fast last night, she wondered if I was 'OK'. Or, as she said, 'as OK as anyone in your situation can be'. I asked her what she meant by that.

"Oh, you know," she said, "you and Booth were… close."

But she said 'close' like she didn't mean close. I wondered what she meant by it. If Booth were here he would explain it to me.

I didn't want Angela's pity, or anyone's for that matter. I didn't want to acknowledge my feelings to myself, and I certainly didn't want to talk about them with anyone else.

_Don't think about it_, I told myself.

"I'm fine," I replied stiffly. Even to my own ears, it sounded fake and strained. "Booth and I were partners and nothing more."

Angela looked at me like she wanted to say something else, so I interrupted her.

"Look, Angela. I really don't want to speak about it," I told her and then continued to my office.

….

I was panicking.

My heart rate had increased by a significant amount, my eyes were dilated, and my breathing was too fast.

I recognized the symptoms, but couldn't do anything to control them.

Everyone wanted to talk about Booth. Everyone wanted to give their condolences and share stories about him. But no one realized that this only made me feel worse. I felt anxiety forming in the pit of my stomach and, finally, I couldn't take it any longer. I rushed into in the parking garage where I was now gasping for oxygen.

_He's gone. He's gone. He's gone. _

The fact repeated in my mind, over and over again.

I had to get out of here.

The people were forcing me to think about what I so just wanted to forget and continue living my life. I knew that this was unreasonable to wish, but the more I thought about the lack of Booth's presence in all of my remaining life, the more it made me want to regurgitate.

I had to leave.

I got into my car (I had picked it up at The Checkerbox before work. I forced myself not to look at the building. I ended up crying on the way to work anyway. Was this the pathetic person I was turning into? Someone who cries in her car on the way to work?) and drove to Booth's apartment without really consciously acknowledging that that was where I was going.

When I looked at the building as I stepped out of the car, I didn't cry. I felt too numb.

I climbed the stained and worn out stairs that Booth and I had climbed together so many times before.

I let myself in using the key that he had given me. I don't think that he would've minded me entering his apartment without his permission. It's not as if I could've asked his permission. If I could've, I would've.

As I stood in the doorway, I took a long look at his apartment. Everything was in exact accordance as the last time I was here.

That's when I knew I was going to run.

I couldn't stay here, not with the constant reminders of Booth and the knowing looks from my co-workers. I certainly would not continue working for the FBI! They would assign me another partner; I refuse to work with anyone other than Special Agent Seeley Booth.

I had to leave the country. But where would I go? Then I remembered the Ethiopian dig that I was offered a place at. I had initially turned the offer down because I was much too busy solving murders with Booth in DC, but now it seemed like the perfect opportunity. Ethiopia was not only isolated from the rest of the world (especially America), but would provide a sufficient distraction from my thoughts.

I'm sure that the company would still accept me even though I had turned them down. I was the best in the world. Whoever they were considering to be my replacement couldn't out match me.

Knowing that this would be the last time my eyes would ever fall upon Booth's apartment, my feet carried me towards the bedroom.

And upon entering, I couldn't help myself from picking up the old FBI t-shirt that was strew on the bed and instinctively bringing it up to my nose.

It smelt like Booth.

I knew that it was just the olfactory cells in my nose that were creating this emotion inside of me, but the sweet smell that was purely the essence of _Booth _made me forget – even if it was just for a moment – that Booth did not currently reside here. Or reside anywhere, for that matter.

And as odd as it may seem, directly upon inhaling the sent of the shirt, it felt like my heart was literally expanding in my chest.

Was this what a heart attack felt like? A stroke? Heartburn? What was wrong with me? Was I sick?

But the sensation that filled me was… bittersweet (at least, I think that is the correct colloquialism for the situation. Although, before this moment, I did not understand how a sweet thing can also be described as 'bitter').

What was I feeling? It scared me; I had no idea what was happening to me or why I was feeling this way.

If I could just talk to Booth, just for a moment… but he was dead. What would I say to him anyway?

Oh.

Oh no.

Was _this _what people felt like when they were in… love? Love is just a chemical response… but that doesn't explain why I feel this why. It must just be the olfactory cells in my nose delivering the message to my brain incorrectly.

Is this feeling… love?

Could it be?

I, Temperance Brennan, have realized that I am in love with Special Agent Seeley Joseph Booth. But it's too late.

…...

Angela's POV:

I am so worried about Bren.

This is so hard. For all of us. My eyes are red and puffy from sobbing into Jack's shoulder last night. And the night before that. But at least we can acknowledge that. Bren refuses to talk. I have been calling and calling her cell ever since she ran out of the lab yesterday afternoon. I knew this was her own special way of grieving and stuff, but I had to make sure she was all right.

I glanced at the clock again. 11:37am. Where was she? I had been waiting all morning. Brennan is never late.

11:38

11:39

11:40

OK, this is ridiculous. I am going to check her apartment just to make sure she is OK…

I put down the remote to the Angelator and briskly walked over to the platform. I swiped my card and spoke to Jack on my way through.

"Hon, I'm going to Bren apartment," I told him, my voice leaving no room for disagreement.

"OK…" Hodgins was apprehensive. Last night we had agreed not to go after Brennan. If this was part of her healing process, then fine. We wouldn't mess with that. But Hodgins didn't stop me as I made my way towards the end of the platform.

I stooped to give him a quick kiss and then headed to my car. He gave me a sympathetic smile, which I returned.

It took me ten whole minuets to reach Bren's apartment (damn traffic…). When I got there, I climbed the stairs and upon reaching her door, knocked loudly.

No response.

I sighed. This was to be expected.

"Bren," I called loudly, ignoring the annoyed looks of the elderly couple that live next to her, "I know you're in there! Open up, sweetie! You can't stay in there forever!"

I expected her to open to the door and say something like "forever is an unreasonable amount of time, Ange, because we would all be deceased by then" or whatever. But no reply came.

I grumbled. She leaves me no choice. I whipped out the spare key Bren gave me.

The lock clicked and I let my self in.

"Sweetie?" I spoke to the seemingly empty room. But Bren could be hiding. I had just made up my mind to check all the rooms when my eyes fell across a piece of paper in the doorway.

I picked it up.

_Angela, _

_You were right. About everything. You know what I am talking about. But now it is too late. _

_I love Booth. _

_You do not know how hard it was for me to finally admit that. But I just wish I had done it sooner. He is gone, and it is too painful for me to stay here in DC. I am going to Ethiopia, where they have offered me a job at the Ethiopian Anthropological Dig. I'll be safe. _

_I'll be contacting you soon. _

_-Brennan_

Oh. My. God.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Sorry it has been a little while since the last update. I've been busy, but that's no excuse. I promise to update faster in the future! **

_Chapter 3: Booth POV _

Finally, the moment I had waited week for had arrived. My funeral was going to be held in a couple of minutes.

How odd that sounded… _my funeral. _

Of course, it wasn't really my funeral, but only Bones, the squints, and me knew that. And Angela. I am still not sure if she is classified as a squint. But she is sure getting there. I swear, it is practically impossible to work at the Jeffersonian and not become a grade-A nerd.

But, then again, I work there (kind of)…

I would shoot myself before I found myself _squinting _at something.

I can just imagine what Bones would say about that statement. God, Bones. I miss her. I wonder if she is OK. Cullen assured me that Crazy Pam didn't hurt her she was OK, but what if he was lying? I was temped to sneak out many times to check on her, but if we catch this guy, I guess it was all worth it (but I wish Bones visited me. They said no visitors, but really. It's _Bones. _Who is she going to tell? She works for the FBI… kind of).

"Booth," Officer Jerome called, "now."

I stood up and straightened my collar and cufflinks (damn things).

Showtime.

The brim of my hat was pulled very low over my eyes. My eyes scanned the crowd for the criminal.

My eyes glanced over Cam, Angela, Hodgins, Zack, and even Sweets all dressed in the usual black. Damn, they were good actors. Angela's eyes were all red and puffy. Did they use onions to get into character? Wow, they were really into this thing. Except for Sweets. He sucked. He didn't even look that sad. Baby.

I saw the murderer over by the trees, but my orders were clear.

_Do not move until he does. _

I didn't see Bones… Where was she standing?

I looked over the crowd (I thought there would be a lot more. Sheesh) more closely. No Bones. Where was she?

I looked again. Nope. She definitely was not here.

Did something happen to her? Maybe Cullen had lied. He knew I would never stay put if I knew that she was injured. Or maybe, dead? No, it couldn't be. Was she hurt? Was she in the hospital?

When I get my hands on Cullen I am going to kill that lying son of a bitch.

_But what if, _a small part of my brain countered, _she just didn't want to come? _

No, that couldn't be true. Bones and I, we were a team. If she could be here, she would. I know it. I understand Bones, and not a whole lot of people do. But she is loyal. And she would never abandon me.

"_But Booth," _I could just hear her saying, _"I just got these new remains of a dead solider from the French Revolution. Do you know how long I have waited for these? And I know you're not really deceased, so what is the point in going to something I know to be fake?" _

But Bones would have come if she could've.

So, she is hurt. Or kidnapped. Or… dead.

I am panicking.

What is wrong? Oh God, please don't let her be dead. She means so much to me. Dear Lord, I need her. Please. I know I have sinned, but I try to repay every day by catching murderers. Please, Lord. I think I love her.

_Woah. _

Hang on, did I just think that?

Oh holy shit.

Could it be true?

Do I love Bones?

I would lie for her, I would steal for her, I would kill for her, I would die for her.

Oh my God, I do love her.

While I was still processing this bit of information, I saw the killer move from the trees.

_Take him down. _

It all happened very fast then. I was tackling him, and we were fighting.

Long story short, I took him down.

And then Angela was throwing herself into my arms. I stumbled back and then returned her hug, a bit surprised. Did she really miss me that much? I was only gone a couple of weeks.

When she finally pulled away, she looked me in the eye, and slapped me.

Um, OW!

"Angela!" I was shocked. "What the hell was that for?"

"That," she hissed, her rage evident in her eyes, "is for making us all believe that you were _dead _you JERK!"

My eyes widened. Behind Angela, Cam looked shocked. So did Zack, Hodgins, and Sweets.

Um, what? She thought I was dead? Why would she think I was dead? Unless…

"No one told you?" I said hoarsely. "I asked them to tell you, I swear it."

"Huh?" Angela was just plain confused. So was I for that matter.

"You were on the list. You all were on the list, Goddamnit! You were supposed to know that I wasn't dead!"

"Booth," Angela said slowly, "no one told us."

Oh no. Bones thought I was dead.

I gripped Angela's shoulders. I grit my teeth.

"Angela. Where. Is. Bones."

Her eyes widened. Her mouth formed and "O". She didn't look angry or confused anymore. She just looked sad, like she was going to burst into tears at any moment. She was looking at me sympathetically.

No. No. That meant… NO! Bones was not dead. Please, no.

"Booth," she whispered, "oh, Booth."

"Brennan's gone."

My heart was in a frenzy, I could hear it in my ears and I could feel the blood pumping quickly though my veins.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Bones. _Bones. _

_Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. _

The word echoed in my head, making it pound and my mind turn to mush.

I'm sure my face was as white as snow and I think Angela registered my expression.

"She's not _dead, _Booth."

Thank you, God.

I calmed down. But just a little bit. If she's not dead, then…

"What the hell do you mean '_she's gone'?_" I spat. I didn't care if I was being rude. Where the hell is Bones?

Angela put her hand in her purse and took out a letter.

_What the – _

"Just read it." Angela's voice was firm. But sad.

So I read it.

_Holy shit. _


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey people! Here is chapter 4! Sorry for the wait. **

Dr. Temperance Brennan, previously of the Jeffersonian Institute, was hot, sweaty, and covered in dirt. Usually she was adapt at not caring about such trivial thing when there were remains to examine, but the lack of a certain FBI agent by her side as she helped excavate the bones had soured her mood and willingness to work in such conditions.

Temperance Brennan missed her partner. She missed the way he put his hand gently on the small of her back (she had nearly broken the wrist of the a brave Dr. Jacobs from New York who dared try to help her into the pit they located a set of remains), she missed the way he reminded her to eat (she had forgone breakfast and lunch for a week), she missed his cocky belt buckle (she had to tear her eyes away from Dr. Muller's large decoration to his belt for the sheer remembrance of Booth was too strong. She thought herself to be pitiful. Dr. Muller thought she was admiring his… assets and had taken it upon himself to flirt with her at every available moment), and she missed his special Booth charm smile (she hadn't smiled once since the declaration of his death).

Oh, she missed other things about DC as well. Things such as Angela, Hodgins, Parker, Zach, and the rest of the people at the lab. She also missed some more materialistic things like her lab, her apartment, her car, and the fact that her cell phone got reception there.

But she took comfort in knowing that she could return back to DC and find all of those things completely as when she left them for Ethiopia.

When she returned, Booth would not be there.

Currently, Dr. Brennan was examining an anomaly on the left scapula of one of the most recently excavated set of human remains. She left DC in a hurry fifteen days ago. She was aware that she missed Booth's funeral, but she had chosen to think about it as little as possible. She hid behind her belief that funerals were irrational, but really she didn't think that she could hold it together if she went back. By now, she had received forty-eight unanswered and unheard voicemails from one Angela Montenegro. Brennan had listened to the first ten and texted Angela when her plane had landed in Addis Ababa, but since then her phone battery ran out. It was impossible to charge it at the dig sight since all electrical outlets were being used for the lab equipment. It would be selfish of her to use something so sparse for her own personal needs. If there was an emergency at home, someone could contact Dr. Brennan by letter. Even if Brennan was able to receive voice mails, I doubt that she would be able to discern what Angela was saying in the calls. She was semi-hysterical in most of them.

"Dr. Muller, please catalog this anomaly on the left scapula," Brennan requested, her eyes not leaving the bone that she was inspecting.

The lab set up at the dig sight was hardly up to the caliber of the Jeffersonian, a fact that Brennan was not immune to. The examination tables was set in a large tent that lacked real floors, a cooling system, and any form of security. Things here got done half as fast as the Jeffersonian, and Dr. Brennan found that she preferred the company of the employees of the lab back home rather than the doctors here.

"Already finished, Dr. Brennan. And please," he flashed a crooked smile, "call me Matthew."

Matthew Muller was a man of thirty-seven and dashing good looks. This was a fact that he had exploited many times in the past. His shaggy blonde hair just fell into his greenish-blue eyes. He was well structured, but Brennan even glanced in his direction with the exception of her odd stare at his belt buckle.

This was annoying to Dr. Muller.

Brennan stared coolly at the other doctor.

"I would prefer if we kept an atmosphere of professionalism in the work place, Dr. Muller," Brennan said by way of responding, immune to his flirting. "Dr. Haverford, have you seen this anomaly?"

Julius Haverford was the equivalent of Zach Addy here at the dig. He came to Ethiopia from _L'Institut Français de L'Anthropologie _in Paris, and was extremely talented in Dr. Brennan's opinion. His English was very good for someone of his age (twenty, at least, Dr. Brennan estimated). She favored his quiet personality to Dr. Muller's annoyingly talkative one. However, Dr. Muller had more experience in the field of anthropology and she could not doubt his skill, no matter how irritating she found him.

Dr. Brennan was doing what she did best – working. She could compartmentalize. When she had a table filled with the bones of the dead before her, that's all that mattered. When she was alone in her tent with the stars above her, she allowed herself to be haunted by her nightmares of her best friend's death.

"Did it hurt?"

Brennan looked up from her anthropology journal blankly. It was a Friday night – late, and Dr. Muller and herself were the only two who had volunteered to stay behind and watch the lab while all the other doctors went into town for some clubbing.

Dr. Brennan volunteered because she had no interest in doing anything social and preferred the calm solitude of the lab. Unfortunately, Dr. Muller ruined this solitude.

Dr. Muller volunteered because he thought that this was the night that he finally asked Dr. Brennan out.

"Did it hurt?" Dr. Muller repeated his question.

"Did what hurt, Dr. Muller?"

Brennan was unaware where this conversation was going.

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Because I think you're an angel."

Dr. Brennan blinked.

"Dr. Muller, I don't believe I understand what you are asking. I'm an atheist. I don't believe in heaven. Why would you mistake me for an angel? It is my understanding that in the Catholic faith angels are depicted with wings and halos. I do not have either seeing as that would be a genetic impossibility."

Matthew Muller was in shock. Was this chick for real? Maybe he should try another strategy.

"Why don't we put on some tunes, Temperance? I think that this radio gets some reception," Dr. Muller suggested, once again smiling at her.

Before Dr. Brennan could object, Dr. Muller had turned the radio to an 80's station. The ending notes to _Like a Virgin _by Madonna rang out in the empty lab.

"Please turn off the –"

Dr. Brennan froze. The next song came on. It was _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun _by Cyndi Lauper.

_I come home in the morning light _

_My mother says "When you gonna live your lifer right?"_

_Oh mother dear_

_We're not the fortunate ones_

_And girls, _

_They wanna have fun-un _

_Oh, girls just wanna have fun-un! _

Memories that Brennan had worked so hard to repress immediately swam to the surface. For a moment, Dr. Brennan could see Booth's face, blank and pale white as she tried to staunch the blood pouring from his chest.

She looked down at her hands. Just for half of a second, Brennan could swear that she saw blood covering them. She felt herself swaying.

"Dr. Brennan? Dr. Brennan! Hello? Are you OK?"

Dr. Muller's voice broke through her haze. She immediately stood up straight at gritted her teeth.

"Turn. Off. The. Music. _Now._"

"Whoa, OK. Calm down. I get it; you don't like 80's. That's cool, that's cool. I'm not that into it either. Now, do you like rap? Because I think that…"

Dr. Brennan tuned out Dr. Muller. She had never felt so… vulnerable than she had this week. She felt fragile, like anything could break her. She felt desolate, like nothing could ever make her smile again. What was happening to her?

Temperance Brennan was no stranger to grief. She grieved when her parents left. She grieved when Russ left. She grieved when she found out the truth about her mother's death. But this feeling wasn't grief. No, this feeling was _pain. _Complete and total pain. The kind of pain that eats you up and makes you want to stay on your couch eating ice cream and watching _Dirty Dancing _over and over again. The type of pain that you felt in your stomach, your throat, and your chest. It made your legs feel like they could never walk again, and that all you wanted to do was cry. But you had no tears left because you had been sobbing and sobbing every night until your whole body shook and your eyes felt dry and itchy. And then once the tears were gone you just felt broken and you wanted to scream into the night and never stop because then, at least you might feel something other than this _pain _that was consuming you whole. It made you see the world in black. You saw the pain and the sadness and cursed the world believing that the light was gone from you and that you could never recover.

Temperance Brennan was broken inside.

And the one person who could possibly fix her was dead.

"Hey. Hey? Tempe? Can I call you Tempe? Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," Brennan snapped. She walked swiftly towards the exit of the lab's tent. "If you'll excuse me, I am feeling quite tired tonight. You can handle the lab on you own, am I correct Dr. Muller?"

But before she could get a reply, the earth started to shake.

**A/N: **

**Uh-oh! Cliffe! Before you think something crazy, like Brennan is having a seizure or something, I'll just tell you: it's an earthquake. **

**PLOT THICKNESS! **

**Thank you for everyone who has reviewed/alerted/favorited! **

**Ugg, I can't believe that we have to wait until NOVEMBER until Season 7! So depressing… **

**Thoughts? Quotes? Predictions? HIKUS? HIT ME WITH IT! **

**I'm not going to make you beg, but aren't you just **_**dying **_**to write me a review? I know, you don't have to fight it. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Thank you all for my amazing reviewers! Virtual hugs and kisses to: **

**JohnGalt**

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**Porginess**

**Tempe4Booth**

**lhawhtwa**

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**Animus et Anima**

**channylover**

**HuddlyBBlove**

**Sparkshine**

****Applause****** **

**You have them to thank for this chapter! **

**Keep 'em coming if you want more – they really do make me write faster. **

_****_

**Chapter 5 **

Brennan, of course was logical. The earth was shaking; therefore there was an earthquake. In an event of an earthquake, take cover in the most supported part of the building. Since she was in a tent that provided no sufficient support, she immediately took cover under one of the makeshift lab tables, covering her head and neck with her hands as she had seen done in the safety courses she had taken.

Dr. Muller was not so logical. He gave a short, startled scream and ran for the exit flap of the tent.

This was to be expected. Dr. Muller was from Ohio, and there were little to no earthquakes. Earthquakes weren't frequent in DC either, but traveling around the world had taught Brennan to be prepared in any emergency situation.

Unfortunately for Dr. Muller, exiting your shelter was the last thing that you wanted to do in an incidence such as this because of the large trees that surround the dig. The trees provide a large hazard in an earthquake of this magnitude (approximately 7.2, Brennan estimated) because of their risk of falling down and injuring your person.

Dr. Brennan knew that if Dr. Muller ventured into the surrounding area of trees in his panic, he would definitely be injured, if not killed, by the collapsing tents of her colleagues. If they stayed under the table, Brennan reasoned, they should be safe from most of the debris.

"Dr. Muller!" Brennan attempted to call him back over the rumble of the earth. She had forgone the shelter of the lab table and was attempting to reason with the frightened and panicking Dr. Muller.

"Dr. Muller, wait! No! It's not safe! DON'T LEAVE THE –"

The rest of what Dr. Brennan was trying to communicate to her fellow doctor was cut off because of a great clanging above her. Brennan looked up just in time to see the metal support beams that held the tent up come falling down on top of her.

And then everything went black.

_****_

Cam watched as Booth paced back and forth across the shiny, clean floor of the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal lab's platform. They (Booth, the squints, and Sweets) had come here directly after Booth's "funeral", and were still in shock over the facts that a.) Booth was, actually, alive, and b.) that Brennan had run off to Ethiopia.

All in all, it had been a startling couple of weeks.

Camille Saroyan had given all of them time off after Booth's shooting to mourn him and, perhaps, go through major therapy to help get through the actuality that they had been witness to one of their friends had been shot and "killed" by a mentally insane murder suspect. And then watch that murder suspect be shot in the neck. By another one of your friends.

Dr. Saroyan thought that all of this fell under the category of "traumatic experience" and told them all that she didn't want to see them in the lab until after the funeral.

Of course, this didn't stop Dr. Brennan from turning up to work the next day. Cam was fully prepared to instruct the security officers not to let her in the lab, but after that day, Brennan didn't come back. She hadn't given much thought to Dr. Brennan's whereabouts until the morning of the funeral, when Brennan didn't show. One look at Angela's face and Cam knew – Dr. Brennan wouldn't be coming.

This turned out to be an even bigger problem. Because not only was Booth actually alive, but also Brennan was in love with him. And somewhere – most likely in a jungle filled with dead bodies or something, Cam reasoned – she was in pain. Because she thought the man that she was in love with was dead.

And even worse? She never got to tell him.

She flicked her eyes empathetically over to Booth's pacing form. She could guess what he was thinking: _Why couldn't it be easy for them? _Booth and Brennan have faced so many obstacles and gone through so many terrible things together, and now Brennan has – _finally _– admitted that she is in love with him. And Booth is obviously in love with her too, so that isn't an issue. He loves her, she loves him. Everything is supposed to be perfect.

Oh, except for the fact that she thinks that his is _dead _and is currently stranded in Ethiopia because of the huge _earthquake_ that had hit a couple hours ago and he has _no idea if she is dead or alive_ because of said earthquake.

Cam thought that they should just accept now that nothing could be simple between them.

_****_

Seeley Booth was… overwhelmed. And freaking out. Just a little.

So many emotions at the same time. Booth hardly knew how to process all of it.

Fear.

The prominent emotion was fear. Booth was scared out of his mind.

What had happened to Bones? Where was she? Was she hurt?

The thought of her, lying in the middle of some dig, hurt, made his stomach clench. _He should be there. _What kind of partner was he? He abandoned her when she needed him the most. She thought that he left her, just like all the others. But she was wrong. Because Seeley Booth was here to stay, and now that he knew how she felt about him, he was never, _ever_, going to let anything take him away from her. He was hers. And she was his. Because they were in love.

Love.

That was something else that he felt. He was still in shock – she loved him. _Loved _him. Loved _him_! Bones LOVED HIM! Temperance Brennan was in _love _with Seeley Booth. And Seeley Booth was in love with Temperance Brennan.

_She loves me, she loves me, she loves me, she loves me. _

Anger.

Who the _hell _was responsible mess? When Booth found him, he was going to pound him into the ground. He felt like punching a wall, or whoever was responsible for this goddamned mess.

_He should be there. _He had to make sure that she was all right.

So there he was, completely powerless to the situation, and pacing. The whole Jeffersonian gang was gathered in the seats overlooking the platform, all their cell phones out on the table, waiting.

"Booth," Angela sighed, "it's been three hours since the earthquake hit. Can you please sit down? You're going to give me a headache. Wearing a hole in the floor isn't going to help us find out about Brennan any faster."

Booth knew that Angela was right but he refused to acknowledge it. Everyone was on edge and he wasn't helping the situation by being snarky with people who cared for Brennan too. Booth, about to apologize, sat down in the only empty comfy chair surrounding the table with all of the phones on it.

And then Booth's cell phone rang.

_****_

The darkness shifted when Brennan heard sirens.

_Loud_, she thought. _Make it stop. _

But, the sirens did not comply with her unvoiced request. They kept wailing, over and over, so much so that Brennan was convinced that she had to open her eyes to get it to stop.

The black slowly gave into the light, and the brightness of it made Brennan's head throb. Blinking, she gazed questioningly at her surroundings.

The blobs of light and color slowly formed into something – a face. A man.

Noise filtered in through Brennan's head, and at first it seemed like the man with blonde hair was speaking to her from underwater.

"What?" Brennan tried to communicate with him, but found that she couldn't make her lips move to make the sound. They were so, so heavy. And she was so, so tired.

The noise eventually turned into sounds that Temperance recognized, namely, words.

"Can you hear me Miss? Are you injured anywhere else?" The man had a soft but heavily accented voice that countered with the ringing in Brennan's head and the sirens piercing the dark night.

Brennan located her lips and licked them once before being able to formulate her response.

"My head… and… my arm" she croaked. Her was throbbing with every heartbeat and she thought that she had broken her right ulna. She fell on it when she collapsed.

"It's going to be OK, Miss. Can you tell me your name?"

"Temperance Brennan. Dr. Temperance Brennan." Brennan murmured this and felt happy that she was able to remember so quickly. That was a good sign, she reasoned, for a head injury.

There was more talking in the back round, but Brennan could not bring herself to strain her ears to hear what they were saying. After a couple moments, the man from before came back.

"You're going to be OK, Dr. Brennan. We called your next of kin and he's on his way. Were going to get you to a hospital now, OK?"

Next of kin. The phrase registered with Brennan. Who was her next of kin? Why was it so important that she tell this man something about that?

Then she remembered.

Booth. Booth was her next of kin. She had made him hers after another life-threatening situation she got her into in one of their cases. Why was that a problem? She trusted Booth with her life.

Booth was dead.

She made to motion to the kind nurse to stop him, but they were already pushing her into the ambulance from her position on the gurney. How could they have called her next of kin and talked to him when Booth was dead? Who did they think was coming?

All of these thoughts made Brennan's head throb all the more. She was so, so tired and she finally allowed herself to go to sleep.

_****_

**A/N DAMN THAT WAS INTENSE! Wow, sorry it took me so long. I've had this chappie done fore a while but it needed major editing and, you know, school and crap came up. **

**Sooooo… whatcha think? Good? No good? TELL ME! **

**Is Brennan OK? What will her reaction be like when Booth comes in the hospital? How will Boothy-Poo react? **

_**IMPORTANT: BRENNAN DOES NOT HAVE AMESIA AND WILL NOT HAVE AMSEIA AT ANY POINT IN THIS STORY. **_

**Totally open to suggestions, favorite parts, general thoughts, criticism, and anything else! **

**Y'all are the bomb! **

**-Aria**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for the wait. But, now I am – finally – on break so it is time for writing!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

The constant sound of the whirling engine was not comforting to Seeley Booth as he anxiously tapped his shoe-covered foot on the plush carpet of the jet's floor to a fast, upbeat rhythm. He was not relaxed – far from it, actually. In fact, he reasoned, he was probably the least relaxed person _anywhere_.

The moment he had got that call, that _damned _call, he was sprinting out of the Jeffersonian, driving hazardously on the freeway to the airport, and trying to get on the first plane to Ethiopia they had.

Unfortunately, all of the flights to Ethiopia were cancelled because of the massive earthquake that had just damaged their airport. And no matter how much Booth yelled at the manager or flashed his badge, it wouldn't change.

After realizing it was pointless and he was wasting valuable time, Booth frantically called Angela, who after frantically calling Hodgins, secured a flight on one of the Cantilever Group's private jets.

And now Booth was sitting here, in one of those fancy leather seats that oh-so-annoyingly leaned back right when you were just trying to get your bag and had a freakin' remote to go with it. The other squints were also on the plane, taking to each other in hushed whispers while looking anxious. Occasionally, they would look worriedly over at Booth. Booth was not oblivious to their distress, but he refused to acknowledge it. In his mind, he just went over the phone call again, and again.

"_Booth." _

"_This is an automated call from the Addis Ababa General Hospital. _TEMPERANCE BRENNAN _has been admitted to our hospital for _HEAD TRAUMA AND BROKEN ARM._ Please contact our front desk if you are medically viable for this person. Have a nice day."_

Relief – she's alive. At a hospital, being treated.

Despair – she's hurt. _Head trauma, broken arm. _

Frustration – why isn't he there by her bedside?

Head trauma? What kind of head trauma? Could they have been less specific? Is it the kind of head trauma that makes you lose your memory or the kind that you just need an ice pack for?

Oh god, thinking about looking into Brennan's eyes and seeing nothing but confusion and no recognition made him want to hurl onto the fancy, polished side table of the jet.

_She hasn't woken up. _

The worst part was knowing, deep inside, that this was his entire fault. His stupid, stupid fault. He should have called her. Drove over to see her, anything to make sure she knew he was alive.

If she knew, she wouldn't have left. And she would be awake right now.

It was all his fault.

_She hasn't woken up. _

* * *

><p>This, however, was a lie. As of 36 seconds ago, Brennan <em>had <em>woken up and was currently blinking groggily into the dim, flickering light of the hospital room. Waking up more, she peered around at her surroundings. She didn't recognize them.

_Don't panic. _

Where was she? She was on a bed… a lumpy one in fact. There was a heart monitor hooked up to her, and an IV in her wrist. _Hospital_, she thought. _I'm in a hospital room. But why? _

Doing a quick inventory of her body, she realized that she, in fact, had a fractured arm. Her ulna was the fractured bone, by the feel of it. She then became aware of a dull throbbing in her head. It increased its intensity until she had to close her eyes to stop the pain that was increased by the light.

Why did her head hurt so much? She tried to remember…

_The earthquake. Dr. Muller. Booth. Ethiopia. _

She had obviously gotten injured in the earthquake and was in the hospital. But how long had she been there? What was going on?

Right as Brennan was about to scream in frustration, the door to her room opened and a doctor in a long, white coat walked in. The doctor glanced up from the clipboard she was carrying and paused in the doorway when she saw Dr. Brennan's sharp, blue eyes following her.

"Dr. Brennan! You're awake!"

"Quite obviously," Brennan answered in a rather clipped tone. "What is the full extent of my injuries, Doctor?"

The doctor looked taken aback. She was an attractive lady, Brennan reasoned. She had high zygomatic arches, large optical cavities, and creamy skin the color of chocolate.

"Let's not rush into anything, Dr. Brennan. How are you feeling?"

Brennan calculated. "My right ulna is moderately painful, and I feel it swelling so I would like some ice. My cranium is throbbing quite painfully, so much so that it hurts to look into the light."

"Well, Dr. Brennan, you have a stellate linear fracture on your cranium and a fractured ulna, as you suspected. Are you having trouble remembering anything? Problems with eyesight? Anything of that nature?" As she said this, the doctor examined Brennan's vitals and charts.

Brennan looked annoyed. "I can remember everything adequately. Have you run a Computerized Axial Tomography Scan to see if I have any brain damage that is not initially apparent?"

Again, the doctor looked astonished by Brennan's bluntness. "Yes," she replied, "we have. It came out negative. There was also no evidence of intracranial bleeding or subdural hematoma."

Brennan nodded. "How long have I been here, doctor?"

The doctor looked at her watch. "About a day. It's around three in the morning, now. We've called you're next of kin, Dr. Brennan, and he said that he's on his way."

What? But Booth was her next of kin. She had changed it after a particularly dangerous case, a couple of months back. Who had they called? And, more importantly, who was coming?

* * *

><p>Booth was running for what seemed to be the fiftieth time today. He was running and running, but he just didn't seem to get there fast enough.<p>

Thirteen hours. _Thirteen. _

That's how long it took for them to land in Addis Ababa. By the time that they had landed, Booth had yelled at the pilots three times, broken one scotch glass, almost broke into tears four times, and almost punched Sweets 12 times. Sweets consistently came over to Booth's seat and tried to get him to open up about his feelings and crap. Booth could barely process what was happening in his head so the idea of talking to someone else about it was repulsive. Sweets had no idea what he was going through, no matter how many certificates he had on his wall.

There is no cure for a broken heart. There is no _therapy _if the love of your life dies. There is only pain and regret and the agonizing knowledge that if you had done something different, they might still be there that day. And that _guilt _eats away at you until you die.

There is no cure.

The squints had drifted in and out of sleep respectively, but Booth had remained awake the entire flight. How could he sleep knowing that Bones was out there somewhere, hurt, alone, and thinking that he wasn't coming for her? Booth would always come for his Bones. _Always._

And now he was running through a cement maze of hospital buildings (_Concrete, Booth. Cement is an ingredient in concrete_) so he could find out where she was.

Finally, Booth saw a building with the sign 'Reception' on the door and burst through. It was just like any other hospital he had been in. Rough, stained carpets and scuffed faux-tile, uncomfortable-looking waiting chairs, stark walls, and roaming nurses. It smelled the same too – antiseptic, cough syrup, and bad perfume.

He located the front desk with a nurse stationed behind it. She was bent over a computer and didn't look up when Booth approached, squints following.

When she didn't immediately look up, Booth impatiently cleared his throat to gain her attention. She looked up at him, her dark eyes hidden behind a mass of bangs and glasses.

"Can I help you?" she asked without feeling.

"Yes, I am looking for a Temperance Brennan," Booth said, "she had a head injury from the earthquake."

The receptionist's hand slid over the keys of her computer in quick strokes.

"She just moved from the ICU. Main building, room 403."

"Will I be allowed to see her?"

Booth hadn't meant to ask this question, but it slipped out anyway.

The receptionist looked at them skeptically. "Are you family?"

Booth's fingers clenched around his badge in his pocket and was about to pull it out when Angela, who had joined Booth at the desk, said, "I'm her sister. And this is our step-brother." She motioned to Booth.

Angela was a damn good liar.

Booth nodded.

"Then, yes, you will be allowed to see her."

That was all Booth needed to hear.

Cam came over with Hodgins and Sweets.

"She's out of the ICU? That's a good sign," Cam said.

Yes, Booth thought, it was good. But he still longed for physical proof that she was OK. He needed to hold her in his arms and make sure that she was alive and well.

"Let's go," Booth said, and they all walked over to the main building as quickly as they could, Booth in the lead.

* * *

><p>The elevator dinged as the doors opened and Booth stepped out onto the correct floor. Looking one way, there was a long, empty hallway with rooms on both sides. Turning his head the other way, he saw the exact same thing on the other side. Following the signs, he continued in the direction of 'Room's 400-420', the squints matching his hurried pace.<p>

As he walked, Booth thoughts turned and turned. What would Brennan do when she saw him? Would she be angry? Relieved?

Would she kiss him?

Would he kiss _her_?

(he wanted to)

Would she hit him? Call him names? Scream at him? Cry?

Or, would she do nothing at all. Would she _care_? She hadn't even gone to his funeral, he reminded himself.

_Don't be an idiot, Seeley. She said she loved you. _

Booth wondered – what would being in love with Bones be like if she loved him back? Booth pictured them kissing after successfully catching a murderer, hugging at the Jeffersonian, holding hands under the table at the diner. Booth wanted that. And before this week, he never thought that there was a possibility that that might ever happen.

But there was. And Booth sure as hell was not going to let that chance go to waste.

Booth was pulled out of his thoughts as Angela, Cam, Sweets, and Hodgins all stopped at a door. 403.

For a second, they all paused in front of the door; each one of them considering what could be on the other side. All of them hoping for something good and fearing for something bad.

But then the moment passed and Booth shoved the door open.

And there she was.

_Bones. _

She was laying down, but awake, with a doctor checking the chart by her bed. Her face was bruised and there was an ice pack on her head and a cast on her arm, but she looked OK. Physically.

Booth was drawn to her eyes. He always was; their cerulean blue color entranced him and winked at him when she smiled her crooked smile. But now, they looked flat. Booth longed to see the sparkle of them once more. He wanted her to look up from her bed and see him and smile and say "hey Booth" and they'd laugh together. She looked tired and like she never wanted to smile again.

She was in pain.

"_Bones._"

He had not meant to say it aloud. It had slipped out, a near whisper that did not go unheard in the previous silence of the room. It was a confession, a prayer, and a statement of love all in one word. One name. Her name.

Her head snapped up and her eyes met his.

"Doctor, are you sure that my head injury wasn't more extensive?"

Her eyes never left his.

The doctor looked up from her chart to look at Brennan, surprised.

"Dr. Brennan?"

Without taking her eyes off of Booth, she said, "I seem to be having an auditory-visual hallucination."

_Oh, Bones. _

"Bones," he began, but stopped, unsure of how to continue.

The doctor looked up at them both with confusion in her eyes.

"Dr. Brennan, are you referring to the man in the door way? I don't think that he is a hallucination."

Brennan turned to look sharply at the doctor, not even noticing – or noticing but ignoring it – when the ice pack on her head slipped out of position and into her lap.

"You see him too? But," she breathed, "that is impossible."

"Bones, I'm not dead."

_Way to state the obvious, Seeley. _

"Not… dead?" Brennan repeated, like the words were hard to form.

"No," Booth assured, moving closer to her bed until he was right next to it, "I'm right here. The Bureau forced me to fake my death to catch this guy who said would never appear unless it was at my funeral, so they made me swear to keep quiet and forced me into hiding. But they told me you knew, Bones! I told them to tell you, I swear!"

At some point during the speech, Booth had knelt down next to the bed so that he was eye-level to Brennan, silently begging her to believe him.

Brennan had gone very pale. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly parted. She didn't say anything.

"Bones?" Booth questioned, nervous by her lack of response.

And then Brennan did a very unexpected thing: she kissed him.

She grabbed his face and moved hers to meet his so that they were locked in a passionate embrace. Booth was shocked, but responded quickly.

Booth had imagined what it would be like to kiss her for a long time. A long time, practically ever since he first met her.

He had pictured it a million times. On a stakeout, at the Jeffersonian Christmas party, just leaning over the table at the diner and planting one on her.

But he never thought it would be like this.

As soon as his lips touched hers, warmth chased away all of the fear, anxiety, and anguish that had been running through him all day. He felt whole and, for the first time in a while, happy. He kisses her back hungrily, like he has waited his whole life for this, because he has.

He wants to press closer to her, feel all of her skin on his fingertips, press into her until he becomes a part of her.

He wants this never to end.

But then it does. She pulled away abruptly, and they were both panting.

Her eyes were hard.

"Go."

The word reverberated around the room, or maybe it just echoed inside of Booth's head, the cold word repeating over and over.

_Go. Go. Go. GoGoGoGoGoG. Go. _

And that one word shattered his heart.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow. Angst! <strong>

**Tell me what you thought about this chapter and feel free to correct me if I got any medical stuff wrong. I got all of my info of a medical website and Wikipedia. So. It might be wrong. **

**Thanks for reading! **

**Aria. **


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